


Quit while you’re Ahead

by Arithanas



Category: Leverage
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hitters gonna hit, M/M, passive-aggresive flirting, someone identified a fake identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: Gambling debts are honor debts, even if they are owed to an infuriating, insolent cheater.
Relationships: Mr. Quinn/Eliot Spencer (Leverage)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Quit while you’re Ahead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karios/gifts).



From the elevator door in, the way to the meeting room was littered with grown men in suits. The frame of a motivational poster that showed a rolling wave was slightly askew and a tall bamboo flower pot filled with plastic greenery was overturned. A noise came from the room at the end of the corridor and another man fell to the floor.

Inside the room, four men in dark suits tried to keep two men, dressed in maintenance uniforms at bay. The one standing near the panoramic window consulted his phone and pointed at the tallest man. The other three, at their command, undid the button of their jacket and went for the guns inside. The shorter of the maintenance guys took out something from his pocket and knocked the man by the window out with a sure shot of something small.

Before the gray metal pocket knife—still closed—could touch the floor, the tallest man lurched forward and planted a sure punch on the guard closest to him. The shorter man twisted the wrist when another man pointed a gun at him and the taller reached toward the third one. 

“Remind me again why am I helping you?” Eliot Spencer asked, slamming his mark against the oval meeting table.

“Because you lost!” Quinn replied, ramming another guard against the door frame.

Eliot groaned, feeling the sting of his defeat again, and looked at the poor goon in his clutches. The man had the cheek to make a soundless Oooh! that conveyed the scorn he was feeling. That expression slid off his face as soon as Eliot raised his fist with a murderous expression.

* * *

Eliot had lost a ton of bad habits in the last ten years. Working with cynical, smug, and frankly vicious bankers was a good start and he had sworn off most of the soft drinks by now, but some habits were harder to pull the plug on. On this particular night, visiting his old hauntings, cracking a couple of cold ones with murders-for-hire, and showing off had been difficult to resist.

Every city, if it has enough population, will have this bar. It’s not in the bad part of town, but it’s not trendy either. The patrons of this particular bar are ragtag but polite and the tabs were always respectfully closed, in cash or kind. The unspoken rule of the place stated that the consequences for any fight would be swift, brutal, and enforced with glee.

Eliot loved to find places like these. He could revel in the warmth of his reputation and drink without worrying anyone would judge him. Sinners together made him feel at home. Besides, there were always games he could join.

That was his downfall: His competitive streak and the irresistible, shameless smile of Quinn.

“Eliot,” Quinn had said by way of greeting, leaning on the bar. 

His hair was short and neatly combed. The waves on the crown of his head caught the light and Eliot studied them in the mirror and let the thought of messing with them send shivers of delight through his spine.

“Quinn,” Eliot mumbled and sipped his beer. “Working hard?”

“Hard, of course!” Quinn replied with a bark of laughter. “Want to lose some time and maybe money?”

No one had even proposed a betting game to Eliot so brazenly. He liked the feeling.

“What are you offering?” Eliot leaned toward Quinn, mimicking a john talking to a working girl.

“Backgammon?” Quinn replied and his smile betrayed that the implicit bawdy joke didn’t fly below his radar.

Quinn was a smart one. No dexterity games, no strength games, he went and flattered Eliot’s intellect. His first mistake. They set up the board and Eliot immediately racooned the game. His second mistake. Quinn took it and they began to roll the dice. The game was over soon, right about the end Quinn had an uncanny series of doubles and Eliot didn’t have the good sense to drop it. His third mistake.

Eliot tried not to show how much his defeat stung as Quinn bore off. There were still six of Eliot’s stones on the board.

“So,” Quinn stated, dropping the dice inside the cup, “are you carrying enough to cover your bet?”

Eliot carried hard cash, but not enough to cover this foolhardy bet. The unspoken rule in the hitter world had to be honored. Eliot lifted his beer and took another sip of his beer, pondering that, when you are in a hole, you better stop digging.

“What are you working on?”

“What makes you think I’m working on something?”

“Just tell me.”

* * *

“Hey!” Quinn called out Eliot once he had opened the safe with the code provided by his client.

“What?”

“Hold this for me, please.” 

Quinn stretched his hand and Eliot took the small piece. A gem of some sorts, Eliot was never too knowledgeable about these things, rested on his hand. A good look at the piece made Eliot snort.

“This is what you have come to retrieve?”

“A three-inch square Roman cymophane intaglio depicting the god Priapus flanked by two amphoras in the middle of an act of self-gratification?” Quinn described while he took the protective case he brought to protect the retrieved mark. “Hell, yeah!”

“This?”

“Judging clients is a good way to never have any,” Quinn chided and extended the case lined with acid-free bubble wrap. Eliot put the gem inside. “Besides, it’s dated circa 400 B.C. It has to have some value.”

“I hope you are getting paid well,” Eliot commented on his way toward the elevator.

Quinn made no comment and casually kicked one of the guards that attempted to get up. They waited for the elevator and started to get rid of the maintenance disguise. Eliot stepped in first, sweeping the hair from his pace; Quinn did it while sliding the case in his inside pocket. Eliot wondered how Quinn managed to keep his suit presentable under the disguise.

The elevator was approaching fast to the lobby. Quinn, half a smile plastered across his face, kept his eyes on the door. Eliot noticed the smell, fancy cologne mixed with sweat. Male sweat… Eliot noticed he had a penchant for taking risks lately, and Quinn was an interesting risk to take. The long ride down allowed Eliot to do some calculations; shamefully, he had to account for Quinn being part of the hitter pool. Eliot’s reputation had taken a hit with that damned backgammon game... 

The doors opened and Quinn detached the video jammer he had attached to the metal panel before they climbed down. The building was massive and the lobby matched. Eliot reckoned that, even in his best days, he wouldn’t be able to throw a pigskin from one side to the other. They walked without any hurry, not quite side by side, but not together. Running was a tell-tale sign and Eliot was still bound to provide Quinn protection up to the point of delivery. 

Eliot was still muttering to himself as he walked to the downstairs parking. He didn’t notice the young man walking by his side at first. Eliot felt no threat, but he finally noticed he had been closely watched.

“What?” Eliot barked at the kid. 

His annoyed tone was enough, most of the days, to make any bothersome person disappear, but this time, in the middle of the lobby of this very famous building, the young man stayed put. Eliot noticed how the kid’s eyes dilated and his smile widened. 

“You are Roy Chapel!”

The name sounded like it meant to say Eliot something. Then it hit him. Belbridge. The Beavers. The weight of the wooden bat in his hands and the glorious flight of the ball over the fence. The roar from the bleaches as he walked the diamond…

“You are wrong.”

“Is he, though?” Quinn asked, resting his weight on Eliot’s shoulder and forcing him to stop. “Come on!”

Eliot eyed Quinn with murder in his eyes. Quinn tilted his head and kept his eyes fixed behind the young man. Eliot followed his gaze and noticed the men in suits trotting toward the entrance of the lobby.

“Dad!” the young man called out. “You were right! He’s Roy Chapel!” 

“Roy, what did you do this time?” Quinn asked, leaning on Eliot’s frozen frame.

“You should have seen it!” the young man said excitedly. “It was a walking single! At the bottom of the ninth!”

“Impressive!” Quinn encouraged the boy and patted Eliot’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“Roy!” a balding middle-aged man exclaimed and joined the group and took Eliot’s hand to shake it with enthusiasm. “Oh, man! It’s really you!”

Eliot let him shake his hand with a stunned expression, feeling awkward and murderous at the same time. He lacked the concentration to keep his eye on the men looking for them.

“What’s your new team?” The young man asked while rummaging the inside of his single sling backpack. “I haven’t heard of you since you left the Beavers.” 

“You left a team?” Quinn asked with a fake concern plastered across his face. Eliot felt the urge to beat off that expression with a swift punch.

“He had been around…”

“I bet he had,” Quinn agreed and his insolent smile widened. 

The man let go of Eliot’s hand to take out his phone. The youngster pushed a notebook and a pen inside that empty hand.

“Please, give me your autograph!” The young man asked. 

“He had played on many leagues,” the father explained to Quinn and presented them with a copy of the fake Japanese TV ad Hardison had cooked for their con. 

“What’s your name again?” Eliot asked as he wrote some inane sentences on a blank page. He might be confused and aggravated by the whole affair, but the pleasure to be regarded as some kind of role model was still there.

“...super happy power GO!!” Roy Chapel shouted from the screen and Quinn almost cracked his poker face on it. 

“I’m Tommy.”

“Can you send me that?” 

“Here, Tommy,” Eliot said with a soft expression that couldn’t hide how grateful he felt.

“Roy, what happened after you left the Beavers?” Tommy’s father asked as Quinn typed his number on the phone. “A man with your talents should be in the Major League!”

Quinn darted a look to Eliot. _I can’t wait to hear this_ … his sardonic smile said to the world.

“Well…” Eliot passed his hand by the nape of his head and got closer to Quinn. “There had been…” Before Quinn could react, Eliot slid his hand between Quinn’s jacket and his shirt and pulled him closer. “A set of unforeseen circumstances.”

Quinn looked stunned just a second before looking at Eliot. _Come on, I dare you_ … Eliot conveyed an expression that had never failed to land him in some strange bed. _Don’t you dare_ , Quinn’s eyes said as Eliot approached, but his bottom lip quivered. Eliot read that tremor as an effort to suppress the urge to pucker up. 

Tommy stood there, with his autographed notebook, tilting his head as if he was trying to comprehend the whole scene. Eliot smirked and let his hand slid down to cup Quinn’s backside. That movement extracted a noise from Tommy’s father that Eliot didn’t even attempt to identify, he was too invested in teasing Quinn into that kiss he was trying hard to suppress.

When Quinn moved half an inch forward, leaving only room for the Holy Ghost between their lips, Tommy’s father held his kid’s hand and dragged him away. Eliot laughed at the confusing jumble of muttering that man left on his trail and that sound broke the spell.

“Behave!” Quinn hissed and slapped Eliot’s hand away from his butt.

“You started this!” Eliot hissed back and lunged forward. 

Eliot was close enough for a kiss again, but this time, Quinn managed to master his lips.

“I’m not complaining. I wouldn’t kick you out of my bed,” Quinn retorted with a blooming smile, “but you need to ask nicely if you want my honey buns, pal!”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Quinn.”

“Die mad about it,” Quinn took a step back and pulled his jacket down. “This little diversion took the scent out of us.”

Eliot looked around. People were still roaming about the great lobby, but none of the armed guards. He kept his comments to himself, denying Quinn a win.

“Come,” Quinn commanded and restarted his way toward the car. “We need to deliver this.”

“I still don’t know how I ended up in this madness...”

“Because I always carry loaded dice!” Quinn confessed and run to the stairs that lead to the parking lot.

Eliot stood in place for a second, refusing to make sense of the words. 

“Dammit, Quinn!” Eliot barked and turned around to catch that conniving, cheating bastard.

**Author's Note:**

> May your Christmas had been happy and next year milder than this one you helped me survive!


End file.
